


Sick Day

by firingmaincannon (Shsldork)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 18:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10837062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shsldork/pseuds/firingmaincannon
Summary: Grif is sick with the common cold, and Simmons decided to stay home and take care of him.





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the imagineyourotp tumblr page for giving me the idea to write this!

 

 

 

 

   A low groan could be heard from the corner of the room, followed by a short sigh, “what, Grif?”

   Dexter Grif had caught the common cold, and it wasn’t treating him very well at all. Lying in bed, a box of tissues on his stomach, he coughed, “my head still hurts, Simmons.”

   “I gave you medicine less than five minutes ago, it won’t be working yet.”

   Grif frowned, “I wish it would work faster.”

   Simmons truly felt bad for him. He wasn’t sure what else he could do at this point. The only advice he could offer was, “just try to get some rest.”

   “Wow, you’re actually letting me sleep in today? Lucky me.”

   “You say that as if you don’t do it anyway.”

   “It’s kinda hard to when you keep bugging me to get up.”

   “Good, it’s supposed to be. You can’t sleep all the time, Grif.”

   Grif yawned, “yeah, whatever.”

   “Go to sleep. Then maybe I’ll be able to get some other stuff done today.”

   Grif grinned at him, “don’t forget, you’re on call today, nurse Simmons.”

   Simmons rolled his eyes, “you’re insufferable.”

   “Love you too,” and with that, Grif rolled over and tried falling asleep.

…

  Try as he might, Simmons couldn’t focus on anything he was supposed to, not with thoughts of a sick Grif in his mind. He really didn’t like seeing Grif in such a state, and to satisfy his concerns for Grif, Simmons decided to go check on him.

   Upon walking in, Grif turned in his direction and smiled slightly, “you miss me? Because I didn’t call for you.”

   “Maybe,” Simmons responded, “how’re you feeling?”

   “Better, but I’m a bit hungry.”

   “Say no more,” Simmons left the room.

…

   Maybe Simmons just wanted an excuse to be needed, or maybe he just liked taking care of Grif, but when he found himself in the kitchen making soup, he found he really didn’t mind it. Grif took his mind off of his other neuroses, and he thought Grif’s casual attitude might’ve even been rubbing off on him in the slightest. Ever since they had both gotten together, Simmons had been a lot calmer, though his anxiety hadn’t really gone away altogether. He never expected it to, but he never expected it to go away in the first place.

   He realized he’d zoned out and forgotten about the soup on the stove, so he quickly turned the stove off. Can’t leave it on. The whole house would burn down and everything in it and he’d have to help Grif get out and what if he couldn’t and what if-

   “Relax,” he told himself, trying to steady his breathing, “you’re overthinking things again. You already turned the stove off, it’s okay.”

   He did turn the stove off, right? Couldn’t hurt to check. He looked down at the burner, noticing no flame, and sighed with relief.

   Okay, maybe it hadn't quite diminished as much as he thought it had, but it had been worse before.

   Before he could think on anything else, he grabbed a bowl, a spoon, and a ladle, scooping some of the soup into the bowl. He touched the sides of the bowl to walk it to their room, but flinched back.

   “Fuck, that’s hot,” Simmons waved his hands to cool them off, “maybe I should give it another minute.”

…

   When Simmons walked through the bedroom door, bowl in hand, Grif had felt relieved. He was a bit disappointed it wasn’t oreos, but he was just happy with the effort Simmons was going through for him. He could definitely get used to it. Simmons sat down on his bedside, and fed him a spoonful of soup.

   Christ, it was salty.

   “Ugh,” Grif recoiled a little bit, and Simmons frowned.

   “What’s wrong with it?”

   “It’s really salty, dude.”

   “Really?”

   Simmons decided to take a spoonful for himself, and also recoiled, “geez, you’re right. Sorry, Grif, I didn’t realize…” He trailed off when he noticed Grif staring at him, “what?”

   “Uh… you remember I ate from that, right?”

   Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t really be all that weird. Grif and Simmons have shared plenty of things, sometimes to the dismay of Simmons, but considering Grif was sick…

   “Shit,” Simmons cursed.

…

   The next day, Simmons was in bed next to Grif, groaning, “no wonder you were whining so much yesterday.”

   “Pass me a tissue.”

   “They’re on your side of the bed because you’ve been hogging them like you do with the blankets.”

   “Was that necessary, Simmons? Way to kick a man when he’s down.”

   “Says the guy who’s made _me_ get up and do everything today even though I’m just as sick as you are.”

   Grif threw a used kleenex at Simmons, and Simmons yelped, “Grif!”

   “What? You’re already sick anyways, what’s the big deal?”

   “It’s **gross.** ”

   Grif sniffed, “everything about a cold is gross.”

   Simmons sighed, taking the rolled up napkin and throwing it at their garbage bin, the ball landing perfectly in the bin. He smiled, “two points.”

   Grif grinned, taking another kleenex and balling it up like the first, throwing it in the same direction. It hit the rim and bounced off, landing with a soft thud on the ground beside it. He pouted, “no fair. You’re closer.”

   “Sucks to be you.”

   “I hate you.”

   “That’s a lie and you know it.”

   “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

   Grif and Simmons spent the rest of the day tossing kleenex at their garbage bin, hardly even making an effort to keep track of the points. Despite how miserable they both felt, the fact they were with each other made everything just that much better.

 


End file.
